


five rules dave set for his brother and how dirk broke every single one of them

by iamthewordshaker



Category: Homestuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-26 02:33:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamthewordshaker/pseuds/iamthewordshaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Loneliness is an odd feeling for a child. Temerity, on the other hand, is not, especially when this brand of temerity comes with a fuck all attitude towards authority." Alternatively titled "The Life and Times of a Hopeless Teenage Heartbreak(er) Trying to Save the World."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

**i. dont open this box until youre thirteen (im serious you little shit)**

This is his legacy.

A collection of godawful pixelated movies, his masterpiece and his resistance. A few swords, handpicked, some with notes attached to them— _haha this things a bendy piece of shit dont use it except for training_ or _i almost lost my dick to this thing_ or _her name is martha treat her with some fucking respect_. A lifetime stock of orange soda, all different brands, filling up the pantries and any room otherwise left unused. Different boxes with different labels, instructing you when and where to open them. Alchemized jpeg pieces of shit and brief instructions on how to make them.

There's other stuff—your shades for instance, and Lil Cal, you suppose, since he was left here by your brother, and the fabric he's left you next to the TV—and most of it is shit you haven't found a use for yet.

But it's all you have, and loneliness is an odd feeling for a child.

Temerity, on the other hand, is not, especially when this brand of temerity comes with a fuck all attitude towards authority.

There is one box that you've been particularly curious about, if only because its DO NOT OPEN label is large compared to the others. It's all over the fucking thing, too; plastered with MY NAME IS stickers, only in the name part your brother has put various meanings of _dont open this shit._ Somewhere, there's a footnote adding: _ok you can open it but you better have 13 years on that motherfucking clock got it junior_

You do not have thirteen years on the clock. You barely have eight.

In creating the box, your brother must have wasted approximately fourteen rolls of scotch tape. It's taped haphazardly, overlapping at some points and crisscrossing this way and that.

It is two in the morning on a Tuesday in the middle of autumn. You have watched your brother's movies seventeen times each over the span of four years and have completed all the learning books and programs he left you. As you understand it, it was meant to bring you to the end of high school, or whatever the equivalent is now that the world doesn't quite work the way it used to.

Ever since you finished it about a week ago, you've been terribly bored. Swimming only provides so much entertainment and even at this age you know there's danger associated with it. Too many close calls in Atlantis.

It is two in the morning, and you really have nothing else to do. Scrounging up a pair of scissors doesn't take long—you cut your own hair—but opening the box does.

You settle for completely dismantling the box, tearing apart the flaps and cutting through layers of flaps and stickers and labels and post-it notes. Inside you find several items, but foremost, a DVD. Beneath it are books and folders, notebooks and binders, files and all sorts of thing that hardly interest you.

The DVD, on the other hand, is immediately put on play.

Static hisses across the screen for at least fourteen seconds before the movie plays. It isn't a movie, you quickly realize, as this is not your brother's creation. This is your brother.

He looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. Months, even. In his pictures, he's always had his shades on; now, they're off.

Your eyes with his make the color of the sunset.

He's been crying. He _is_ crying, present tense, and he makes a hasty attempt to wipe his eyes with the back of his palm. The lighting is too low to make out what's behind him, but the camera occasionally shakes and static is frequent.

"I'm sorry," he starts, voice thick. It's not the first time you've heard him speak. You've seen interviews, heard him rap, used his voice to help you fall asleep.

But it was never like this.

"I'm so sorry, we tried so goddamn hard—Rose and me, we waited for you. For both of you. We thought you were gonna come, that we'd be able to protect you—and now I have to tell you this, and I'm sorry."

You cross your legs and pull Cal to your chest, hugging him tightly. Your eyes remain on the screen.

He begins to tell a story.

All the stories you've heard prior to this are simple ones. Fairytales. Not the original ones in their grotesque forms, the ones where the princess finds her love and everything is alright. Kid's stories, now that you think about it, unrealistic but reassuring nonetheless. Cartoons like those made you feel ready to take on the world, to fight a dragon and save everyone, to become a hero and be admired as one.

This is not one of those stories.

This is a story where he sometimes stops just so he can cry more. The tears clog his nose and throat and eyes, his voice goes nasally, his hiccups echo, and it's the most terrifying thing you've seen in your life.

The second is the story itself. He tells of an alien queen, of an earth that was once inhabited to the brim with humans just like you and just like him, and there was a cold-hearted woman named Rose Lalonde and a soft-hearted one named Jade Harley and a silly man called John Egbert. Out of all three, he talks the most about Rose, and even at this age you can tell that he loves her very dearly. Loved.

He tells you of a game he played with his friends and how it's the very same game you will play with yours. You know these friends. You have been speaking to them for two years and you like them very much, but this game sounds terrifying.

You don't want to play it.

Dave ends the video with a choked "I love you" and it takes four years for you to realize this video was taken the night before he went to fight the Condesce.


	2. Chapter 2

**ii. dont idolize the dead (dont fucking idolize anyone)**

 

It's a note scribbled in one of his notebooks. An afterthought to guiding you. After some thought, you realize everything must be an afterthought. He thought he'd be there. He thought he'd be with you, raise you by hand, maybe take you to Hollywood and teach you the ropes of horrible filmmaking and the art of irony.

But he was wrong.

Part of you is angry. Another part—larger so than the former—is not. It's a confusing feeling, mixed admiration crossed with staunch bitterness for a man you could have loved. His death doesn't erase the genetic bond between the two of you, but it does erase the familiarity. Everyday you find out more about him; everyday you realize you didn't know him at all.

Dave Strider, lucrative Hollywood superstar. Dave Strider, rebellion leader. Dave Strider, a child at heart that deflects problems with humor. Dave Strider, your fucking brother, and your failed guardian.

You wonder if the note refers to him.

You've read Rose Lalonde's books a few times and talked them over with Roxy. She's more attentive to the relationships between the characters, but you both can find the words alluding to the Condesce's takeover of Earth.

You want to kill the Condesce.

You're _going_ to kill the Condesce. This is not a dream or a hope, this is a fact, and you are going to be there when she takes in her last breath, when the last drop of blood falls from her body.

For now, you busy yourself. Practicing and sparring—once you learn to create robots you can fight with, it's much easier to replicate them. Squarewave was the first robot you made, not for sparring but for company, and now you've moved onto a new project.

You're calling him Sawtooth even though he isn't complete. He's going to be, though; he's not for sparring, really, and he's going to have vocal capabilities like Squarewave. Better ones, though.

Ones that may or may not be mixed from your brother's voice. Not that you have anything else to go on; Squarewave was a mix of your own and computer-generated vocals. His voice is a little scratchy and maybe a little squeaky, but it's a voice and as you work on Sawtooth, her persistently bothers you about just everything.

"I can take you, dog," he says, "I can beat you, right here and now."

"I'm busy."

"You're always busy!"

"I'm actually busy."

He lets out a groan—at least, some noise that's close to it—and leaves you alone for the time being. Some miscalculations have led Sawtooth to a fucking mammoth in size, but it lets you provide him with some defenses. The drones are getting prickly.

Rome wasn't built in a day, but you're not interested in building an empire.

Not right now, anyways.

Roxy talks to you while you work. You have the webcam pointed towards you and she goes on about her day, talking about the carapaces and hacking and Mario Kart. Rainbow Road is her favorite and as much as you hate to admit it, she always has you beat on that course.

The technology left behind makes communication hell of a lot easier. Even so, you're not as close with Jake or Jane. Timezone differences—a few hours and hundreds of years—makes them less available to talk. Not to mention Jane has school.

Neither of them know what you look like.

You've told them when they asked. It's normal for them to be curious, but you're a bit wary about revealing yourself to them. It's... You don't know why. Maybe it's a defense mechanism. Roxy is safe; they're unpredictable.

Eventually, you'll talk to them, maybe even see if you can webcam over a four hundred long gap.

"Earth to Dirk? Hello?"

You glance back at your computer. There's a black cat snuggled up to her chest, rubbing its nose on her chin.

"I gotta check with the buddies," she says, waving a hand vaguely. "They get kind of antsy when I leave them alone."

"Alright."

She logs off and you return to Sawtooth.

-

A mistake in his wiring adds nearly a week to the time it takes to finish him. When you finally do, you check him over, scanning for any loose wires or panels. When you're satisfied with your work, it takes a simple click of a button to bring him to life.

He doesn't light up or anything, but his body shifts a little. You wait with the patience of a saint until he seems fully aware. He's sitting on your bed and you're standing in front of him.

"Hey."

There's a whirring click that you're unfamiliar with. It takes almost a minute to clear up, but eventually the click turns into a garbled mess of vowels and consonants.

"Your name's Sawtooth," you inform. "I'm Dirk."

The conglomeration of noises turns into a single word: "Sup."

His voice is a bit raspy, but he's doing well.

He adds, "Lil man."

You freeze.

He sounds exactly like Bro. _Exactly_. The gravelly pitch, the faint Texan accent, the smooth enunciation.

You _wanted_ this but—

You didn't.

-

Three hours later, you have a new voice for him. It's one hundred percent computer-generated. A few more hours and it's installed; this time when you turn him on, he cocks his head a little and nods in your direction.

His new voice sounds nothing like your brother's. You're thankful, but your chest aches.

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering  timaeusTestified [TT]  


TG: sooo  
TG: hows tha newest stridre doin????  
TG: i know ur online dsitr  
TG: *distri  
TG: u havent talked to me since yesterday  
TG: are u still workin on him  
TG: uggghgggggh  
TG: fine ill bother you l8r :*  


tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT]

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG]

TT: "I had desired it with an ardour that far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart."  
TT: It's best to leave the dead where they lay.  
TG: maaaaaan  
TG: how badly did you fuck uopp  
TG: *up  
TT: Badly.  
TT: I fixed it.  
TG: course u did  
TG: mayb i should start calling u bob the biulder  
TG: bob the fixer  
TG: dirk the fixer  
TG: do u see wehre im going w this  
TT: No?  
TG: party pooper  
TG: wanna talk bout it  
TT: Not really.  
TT: I thought I could bring a man back from the dead to make myself feel better.  
TT: Simply put, I can't.  
TT: Case closed.  
TT: I'll talk to you in the morning.

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering  tipsyGnostalgic [TG]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im never formatting pesterlogs again


	3. Chapter 3

**iii. don't fall in love (it makes people stupid)**

 

As far as you know, the famous Dave Strider never fell into the paparazzi-infested waters of love. He never really talked about it with you, meaning he didn't leave any elaborate notes on it, but somewhere, you remember seeing his criticism of some old Nic Cage movie. Beside it was a note about the fallacies of love; not friendship love, which he advocated very strongly, telling you repeatedly to trust your friends and take care of them and let them take care of you, but romantic love.

You can safely say that you love Roxy and Jane. They're two of your three best friends and special in their own way. Roxy's the only one who knows what it's like growing up in dystopian earth. She's clever, too, sometimes smarter than you, and she always tries to lighten the mood. Jane is strong. She's intelligent and cunning, and her cynicism deserves her some credit.

Then there's Jake.

You don't love Jake like you love Roxy or Jane or Bro, but you like him quite a bit and his obliviousness is somehow endearing. He's the poster child for unswerving loyalty and trust, and today you're going to talk to him for the first time.

Pictures have been exchanged, but technical difficulties postponed any chat between you two. Thanks to a friendly third client, it's now a possibility, and very definitely happening.

 

golgothasTerror [GT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT]

 

GT: Are you ready old chap?

TT: Ready as a porous animated sponge on his way to work.

GT: Lets hope this works!

 

golgothasTerror [GT] is sending timaeusTestified [TT] a video request

 

You're excited.

You're terrified.

 

timaeusTestified [TT] accepted request

 

It takes a moment for the connection to go through. The internet's speed isn't quite as impressive when there's a time gap to deal with, but slowly but surely, the black crackles into pixels that smooth out over the course of a few seconds.

Jake isn't looking at the screen; his eyes are on the keyboard, and when you shift in your seat, his eyes dart up, as do his eyebrows. His lips curl into a breathtaking grin and he guffaws, offering you a brisk wave.

"Can you see me?"

You nod, but don't say anything. The fact that he can see you is mildly horrifying. Pictures of you are one thing, but a live chat? He'll be able to hear your voice, even your accent, and he might be able to catch the subtle emotions on your face.

You're panicking, and rather close to closing the chat.

"That's, er, the man of the hour, then?" he says, a bit hesitantly, and you're a deer caught in the headlights. Cal is in your fucking lap.

"Cal," you offer, and your voice _cracks_. You clear your throat and hope you're not blushing. (You probably are.) "Lil Cal. Looks like my two best bros can finally talk, huh?"

You hear the door open and send an irritated glance; Squarewave immediately runs up to the computer (as quickly as he can, at least; his legs weren't made with athleticism in mind) and tries to shove his face in the view of the camera.

" _Dude_ —"

"Who's that?"

"He's a friend—"

"Can he rap?"

" _No_ —"

Jake interrupts with another chuckle. Nothing perturbs him, but you really wish Squarewave would step off. You know you're the one that programmed him to be stubborn, but you didn't exactly think that bit through. Besides, he usually finds something else to busy himself with if he knows you're too busy for a rap battle (one that he'll inevitably lose).

"I'll take you up on your challenge!"

You give him a doubtful look, but he's leaning forward, bright grin two watts from blinding you.

"Aw yeah, dog!"

They prepare to have one of the worst rap-offs in history.

But as it goes on, your silent criticism turns into active judgement. You offer the first three rounds to Squarewave, the second as a tie, and the final, a stunning win by Jake.

But only because you kicked Squarewave in the back of the knee and gestured for him to finally leave you alone.

He lingers around the door, refusing to leave entirely until Sawtooth appears and pulls him away. He offers you a slight nod and closes the door behind the two of them. He's always been a bit flighty, something you're sometimes concerned about. Maybe it's leftover from trying to make him into your brother. Maybe it's just him.

Regardless, by the time they leave, Jake is red in the face from laughing and your hair is a bit tousled from running your hand through it. It's a subconscious gesture; you check every so often in the reflection of your monitor to make sure it looks alright.

"That was quite a show!" he enthuses, and you offer him a brief smile. Normally, you'd keep the emotional gestures on the low. Even Roxy has trouble squeezing a smile out of you most times, but with Jake, you can't fucking help yourself.

That is the day you start falling in love with Jake.

-

You ignore everything you brother says about love. What did he know and what does it matter? He's dead. You're not your brother (although you might want to be him, or maybe you mildly detest him, or maybe you miss him; it's a combination of all the above that you don't want to get into right now) and you've got things under control.

Mostly.

 

TT: Seriously?

TT: You've been concocting this bullshit plan for about a month.

TT: And lately, it's all you've been thinking about.

TT: I know because it's all I'm thinking about, and it's getting pretty fucking boring.

TT: Go strife with Otto or something.

TT: Hey, want me to make him shoot lasers?

TT: I could totally make him shoot lasers.

TT: Do you think he'll say yes?

TT: For the love of fuck.

TT: Do you want some statistics, fresh from the oven of my metaphorical ass?

TT: There is a 26.8% chance he will reject you.

TT: That's 2% lower than last week.

TT: Oh my fucking god.

TT: Dude.

TT: Go outside for five minutes. Get your mind off Jake. He ain't going nowhere.

TT: Tone the accent down.

TT: No siree.

TT: No.

TT: Siree?

TT: No, just no.

TT: Go strife. Otto's revamped and ready to go.

TT: Otto 2.0 isn't strifing with Jake, he's hiding in a fuckin' bush.

TT: You're not missing anything.

TT: If you say so.

 

As much as you hate to admit it, the strife does help. Fighting one of your robots helps. It loosens the muscles in your neck and back. It's not quite summer, but the sun still glares down at you. It doesn't take long before you're shirtless and running around the roof, trying to get the best of a robotic version of yourself; he's quick, but he's a robot. You've thought about infusing him with an AI of your own, but you think AR already has that covered. Besides, he usually does the tweaking with the fighting bots' mindsets now anyways.

He thinks your infatuation with Jake is ridiculous.

You don't really care what he thinks.

Thinking of Jake earns you a nasty slice across your forearm; you counter it quickly, sword whipping out, but you just barely glance Otto as he jumps away.

 

TT: Keep your head in the game, junior!

 

You mentally flip him off and blink, sending the chat interface away from your screen. It's a good thing, too; Otto nearly takes your fucking head off, but you easily sidestep it and manage to land a kick to his legs. It doesn't trip him up or make him lose a goddamn beat in his step, but now he's defending and you're attacking.

You're brutal with your strifes; when you're done, the robots have to go through another round of rebuilding and remodeling to be ready again. It's been made easier with AR, particularly when you wanted to send a robot in pieces to Jake and have it capable of being put together by someone who didn't exactly know what he was doing.

The strife lasts over an hour. The final blow is one to the robot's head, slicing neatly through the neck and leaving wires exposed. The head flies into the ocean and the body collapses, motionless.

You're panting. Sweat drips from your back.

 

TT: Are you just going to leave him?

 

You retrieve him, not just because it'd be nice to have it back for future robots, but because it's hot as hell and the water has never treated you badly. Upon returning to the apartment, you drop Otto's head and body in the living room and grab a bottle of Crush.

You left your clothes outside to dry; you're naked, but comfortable with being so. That is, until you spot the screen of your computer flashing rather impertinently.

You don't pay it much attention as you rummage around your room, trying to find the screwdriver you had haphazardly tossed earlier.

A muffled noise makes you freeze.

"I— _Dirk_?"

You whip around and discover that the webcam has been miraculously activated. What the fuck.

"What the fuck? Turn it the fuck _off_."

You're fuming, maybe at Jake, mostly at yourself.

The screen goes black and you realize Jake turn the order to be meant for him; you slap your forehead angrily and resist redecorating the wall with a few cleverly placed dents.

You dress angrily and practically punch the keyboard to rid the monitor of the screensaver. You're angry because you're embarrassed; you can feel the blood rushing to your cheeks, turning your face and ears a bright red.

 

timatusTestified [TT] began pestering golgothasTerror [GT]

 

TT: Uh.

TT: Hey.

TT: Didn't mean to snap at you.

TT: I just didn't expect that.

GT: What?

GT: But i just got done talking with you.

GT: Blast it!

GT: Ive been confounded again by your wretched robot friend!!

TT: Oh.

TT: Yeah, he's kind of a dick sometimes.

TT: It's how he shows affection.

TT: So, uh.

TT: Here's to hoping we never talk about this?

TT: Ever?

GT: Agreed!

 

timatusTestified [TT] ceased pestering golgothasTerror [GT]

 

If he could have, he would have told the entire town. Instead, he told the next best thing: Roxy.

She makes wisecracks for the next week and a half, but they die out quickly. There still remains the issue of Jake, although you're not entirely sure _what_ the issue is. Is it him in general? Is it your stupid yet brilliant plan to declare your feelings? Or is it your feelings in general?

-

It turns out to be a mix of all three.

Jake is a heartbreaker, you rushed into this dick-first, and you're an _idiot_.

-

His skin is soft against yours and his lips are chapped but _warm_ and they're warmer than anything you've known. When he holds you, you're safe. You're home in the arms of someone you've spent so long homesick _for_ , if you can be homesick for a person, and being with him fills your heart to the brim.

He worries you.

He leaves without telling you, he doesn't think twice about heading into a cave that could very well kill him, he _nearly_ kills himself when he forgets his gas mask. That had been a nightmare. You'd berated him for at least an hour, seething and terrified at his own stupidity, and he'd rolled his eyes and pointed out that he was still alive, so what was the problem?

Sometimes, he's an absolute idiot. He's possibly the most oblivious person on the planet, but his goofiness is relatively charming, especially when his lips are on your neck and his hands are down your pants.

Other times, he just... _leaves_.

Off on his adventures, he says, with a brief smile or a simple text message. You wake up and he's gone; you go to bed and he's gone; you spend days without him, without hearing _anything_ from him and your worry turns to anger.

It's only anger for yourself; he's breaking your heart, but maybe you shouldn't have given it away in the first place.

-

When it does happen, when the last domino falls, you pretend you're too numb to feel it. To finally lose him, to push him off as a last escape—it's a sickening facade, one everyone in their right mind should be able to see through, but you can't help it. You build your walls back up, not with wood but with brick; nobody's getting through them this time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is organized by topic, not chronological order; this chapter and the last interweave as far as time and order go, which is part of the reason the last chapter took so long. i didn't know which one to put first.

**iv. dont fall under anyones shadow (even your own)**

 

It happens over time.

Maybe you should have expected it. As a hero of heart, your soul and self are things the game looks at with a very critical eye. Your robots were modeled after you and you modeled yourself after some awful amalgamation of your dead brother and your definition of a bro. Then there came Hal, your best work and biggest mistake.

He's brilliant. He's a fucking supercomputer, of course he's brilliant, but even without it he'd be a clever. And why wouldn't he? He was copied off your prodigy mind, you stupid, cocky genius mind, and you made the mistake of thinking you could control him.

You _can't_.

You never could.

His arrogance mirrors your own, but he never hit puberty. As soon as you did, the arrogance faded into a cold black heart plagued by paranoia and doubt. He doesn't have that. His programming doesn't allow for those sort of anomalies—and he _knows it_.

He knows he's your better, he's everything you could have possibly dreamed to be. Managing two conscious bodies is a hassle for you; he could manage a million and not break a fucking sweat.

Even with Roxy, he's managed to best you. You've known her not-so-pale feelings for you for quite some time, but have always quietly or vaguely deflected them with a somewhat firm _no_. You honestly don't know if he's doing it because deep down, you did feel some attraction to her at a young age or if he just wants to fuck with your head. Either way, it pisses you off, but you can't exactly tell him what to do. His freedom is a consequence of his creation, which in turn is entirely your responsibility.

-

When the game starts, he somehow grows more irritable. It's his lips that touch Jake's first—not yours, he claims, but you didn't want to feel your own disembodied head anyways—and the farther you get into the game, the more aggressive his demands for a body of his own become.

 

TT: I'm just saying, how would you feel if your existence was confined to a pair of shades?  
TT: Rad as they may be, they're just shades.  
TT: You were able to create me. Why not another body?  
TT: Because I already created you.  
TT: That's the fuckin' point.  
TT: How do you expect me to deal with another me, body included?  
TT: How the hell is that my fault?  
TT: You made me.  
TT: I'm just saying.  
TT: I know what you're saying.  
TT: The answer is still the same.  
TT: One day you're going to have to keep your promise, Dirk.  
TT: I know.  
TT: And I will.

 

You will keep your promise. He's right, as much as you hate to admit it; it's not fair to keep a person stuck in an inanimate object. His insistent prodding doesn't help, though.

Within the game, he's more vocal than ever. He's a bit rash, too, doing things without your permission; he started "modifying" Sawtooth once and you turned off his communication access for a week. (He hacked himself out of the lockdown two hours later.)

It doesn't take long for your jealousy and self-loathing to turn into an anger towards him.

It's not that he's undeserving of it; he's a manipulative fuck, and he's gotten you into trouble more than once. Being tricked into taking risks without knowing it is _fun_ for him and his little circus acts where he poses as you hasn't stopped.

It's not just his asshole personality, though. It's the knowledge that this is _your_ personality. As different as two may deal with it, deep down, you're the same. Same programming, same brain, same core of a Machiavellian robot wannabe.

He reminds you why you hate yourself so much. It's—he's everywhere, always talking to you, never giving you a moment to fucking _breathe_ , and his jokes are so goddamn corny. You can only imagine what it's like for your friends—for _Jake_ —to deal with you, some antisocial fuck-up that can barely keep his tightly sealed composure together.

-

You almost _kill_ him.

It would be so easy. Just a bit more pressure on the shades and he would snap in half; he's helpless in your hands, and it feels so fucking good to bend the shades and see the cracks spiderwebbing across the glass.

For all the things he has on you—the strength, conviction, intelligence—only you have this power. You can end him _so_ goddamn quickly and it wouldn't take much. Just a bit more pressure and _snap!_ Goodbye, Hal. 

But the keyword here is _almost_. 

He begs you not to. He honestly does, and you hate absolutely everything. Even if your failing relationship with Jake is his fault, you're the one that made him. It's _your_ fault, he's a copy of your own shitty brain, and that's never going to leave you. You can never forget it, and as much as you hate him, you don't hate him as much as you hate yourself.

The clown managed to sneak in a troll body into your sprite before you could help it, but you throw Hal in next.

He's _thrilled_ , but not any less obnoxious.

Nevertheless, he has his own body and, despite sharing it with someone else, he couldn't be happier. He's glasses-turned-hybrid-troll-sprite and he's _still_ happier than you.

Jealousy is an ugly emotion.

TT: Hey.  
TT: Thanks.  
TT: Don't mention it.  
TT: Really. Don't.


End file.
